She ain't a sore winner, that's for sure. And she has that edge, that smile that says this is right. For a moment, she forgot the war.

That can cheer Daryl more than anything, these days. The little light in the darkness, the shit that keeps you moving beyond hope or reason. He doesn't smile back, but there's a lightness to him that wasn't there before. This is good people. Worth protecting.

He nods. India sounds right, not that he'd know if she was lying. He follows her, because she wants to be followed. "Sounds like its own kinda shithole," Daryl says, lightly, his horse just barely in pace with hers. "You miss it."

Like he misses Georgia. You always miss home, even if it were a prison.